Authors: Irene Preston
By the time they hit the second seating, he had the timing back, and Hector’s voice intruded with less and less frequency. Chatter on the line faded as the night went on until it was down to the minimum necessary for communication.
He didn’t care.
The food kept coming, plate after plate landing next to him. He took the components, the main ingredient, the sauces, the garnishes, and the sides, and he transformed them. He made them more than the sum of their parts. This was who he was, what he did. Nothing else mattered so it had to be perfect.
And, for the rest of dinner service, it was perfect. Golden brown sear, sweeping arc of sauce, the curl of thinly shaved fruit, the delicate scent of lavender—this was beauty, life, love. He shut out the kitchen behind him, the servers in front of him, Carlo standing silently a few feet away, and concentrated on the things that mattered.
He offered up the last plate of the night to utter silence in the kitchen. Best night ever—
not a single item presented to him had been less than outstanding. Not a single dish he sent out had come back. He wanted to tell the crew how proud he was of them, but they were already busy breaking down the line. No one seemed to want to meet his eyes, and he didn’t know what words to use anyway. Hector would hand out the appropriate accolades, or Carlo.
Carlo.
Carlo waited for him at the end of the line, eyes blazing with some emotion Garrett couldn’t decipher. Anger maybe. He thought Carlo might be angry, but he couldn’t tell. He didn’t have the trick of reading people.
He headed into the office and pulled off his jacket, preparing for the trip home. When he turned around, Carlo stood in the doorway, watching him.
“Garrett?”
“It was a good service, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was a fucking awesome service, Sweets. Not a single complaint.”
Garrett didn’t know what to say to that. Carlo didn’t sound happy about what had to be their best service ever.
Carlo shut the door and moved a step closer to him. “Babe? Do you want to talk about your parents being here?”
No. Absolutely not. The thought terrified him even though he wasn’t sure why. Was that why Carlo was angry? Something to do with his parents?
The idea penetrated the bubble of satisfaction over the great service, and he realized he was tired, bone tired. He really should go home. But first he needed to deal with Carlo.
“Carlo, I’m sorry. I asked you to stay in the kitchen. They’re not….Whatever they said to you….” What had they done? “They can be insensitive around staff sometime. You shouldn’t take it personally.”
“Insensitive around—?”
Carlo broke off and shoved a hand through his hair, looking at Garrett as though he had never seen him before. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally said, “Garrett, they didn’t say two words to me. Jesus, it’s not their treatment of me I’m worried about. ”
What else? Arriving without notice? “Look, if they ever show up out of the blue like that again, just don’t seat them. Simple, yes?”
“Yeah, don’t worry, babe. I don’t care if they show up with the President of the United Fucking States of America. They aren’t coming in here again.”
Even Garrett couldn’t miss the fury behind the words. He didn’t understand it. Carlo said they hadn’t been rude to him. Why was he angry?
The final bit of energy from the night seeped out of him. His limbs felt leaden, but it didn’t matter because he was disconnected, floating a half-inch outside of everything. The lights in the office were suddenly too bright, or maybe he was too dark. He looked at Carlo and tried to remember how his partner’s lips tasted, but the memory was too far away, out of reach. He
really
needed to get out of here.
“Right then. That’s settled. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Carlo went completely still.
“You’re going home? To your apartment?”
Where else? Then he remembered. He had gotten in the habit of going home with Carlo.
“I’m tired,” he said.
Carlo’s anger had been replaced with something else. Something that made him look almost frantic.
“No.” He shook his head. “You’ve had a rough night. You haven’t eaten. Come home with me, and I’ll make you something.”
He knew Carlo was right. He should be hungry. But nothing sounded appetizing. “I don’t want—”
“
Please
, Garrett.”
“But I’m not hungry. I’m just….”
“Tired.” Carlo sighed, looking defeated. “I know, babe. Okay, let me tell Andi we’re leaving. I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I do, babe. Just let me come with you, okay?”
Arguing that he could get home on his own seemed like a massive waste of energy. So he waited for Carlo to come back, let him organize a cab and slide in next to him. Carlo didn’t try to talk anymore, at least. They rode in silence through the almost deserted late-night streets. Everything felt side-ways, off kilter, reduced to monochromatic shades of gray, but he didn’t know how to set it back right.
He would deal with it all tomorrow. Right now his head felt so heavy he could barely keep it upright. He wanted to rest it against the window, but he was afraid he would fall asleep.
Except the closer they got to his apartment, the more he worried that he
wouldn’t
sleep. The insomnia would come, and no matter how tired he was, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He would be stuck in this state of numbness forever where the only thing that felt real was Carlo’s hand covering his, Carlo’s thumb stroking reassuringly along his skin.
When the cab stopped, Carlo paid the fare and got out with him. In the lobby, Garrett stopped and tried again.
“You don’t have to come up.”
“I know.”
Upstairs Carlo used his own key to let them in. “Matt’s not here?”
“Found his own place.”
“Do you want me to make you something to eat?”
Carlo sounded worried, so Garrett thought about it before answering. But his taste buds were affected with the same numbness as the rest of his body.
“No,” he finally decided.
He thought Carlo would leave then, but, instead, he steered Garrett into his bedroom, had him sit on the bed, then knelt in front of him and began unlacing Garrett’s shoes and taking them off.
Garrett reached out and touched his hair, Carlo’s hair that was so soft on his days off but right now was stiff and styled for work. He rubbed a strand between his fingers, trying to make it relax. How did he tell Carlo he wasn’t up for sex tonight?
“Carlo?”
The second shoe came off, and Carlo’s hands slid up his calves, around the outside of his thighs, and finally cupped his hips, squeezing lightly. Garrett assumed his pants came next, but instead Carlo just leaned forward, wrapped his arms around Garrett’s waist, and held him.
Warm. He hadn’t been aware of being cold, but now he was warm where Carlo touched him. The thought of losing that warmth warred with the lethargy.
“I don’t—” He stopped because the mere thought of Carlo moving away sent a bone-deep shiver through him.
“Do you want to top?” he offered instead. He hadn’t wanted to switch before, but tonight he just couldn’t seem to work up the energy to take charge.
“Shhh.” Carlo came up off his knees in one fluid motion, pulling Garrett with him so they were both stretched out on the bed. Carlo lay half on top of him, and his warmth seeped along the length of Garrett’s body. “I don’t think this is a good time to make any big changes.”
Carlo’s hands threaded through Garrett’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp. It felt good, not stimulating. Just…good. Then Carlo’s lips came down in soft presses against his forehead, his eyelids, the corners of his mouth, and all Garrett could think about was how soft and warm they were and how odd that something so delicate could feel so good.
Carlo finally touched their lips together, and Garrett realized he could taste again. For the first time, the taste of Carlo didn’t make him frantic to grapple for more. Instead, it fed something in him, soothing the numbness into pleasure.
He made a little moan of protest when Carlo’s mouth left his, but by that time other parts of his body were waking up and approved of the direction that mouth was headed. Carlo took his time getting there, still using those warm hands to stroke and pet, chasing away the last of the chill.
Garrett thought briefly that he needed to make an effort. It felt odd to lay here, Carlo doing all the work, but, when he tried to move, Carlo pressed him into the bed.
“Shhh. Be still.”
Carlo’s mouth finally reached its destination and slid over him, shattering the numbness into sharp sensation.
Being still became impossible.
He gave up on any kind of reciprocation, fisted his hands in Carlo’s hair, and arched himself into his partner. When he hit the back of Carlo’s throat, Garrett didn’t just hear Carlo’s moan; he
felt
it. The vibrations travelled through his dick and sent lightning bolts up his spine to the base of his skull.
“Oh god. Do that again.”
Selfish
.
Carlo adjusted the angle of his head, wrapped his hands around Garrett’s hips to pull him closer, and swallowed him down.
Hot. Slick. Good. Over and over. So good.
Not enough.
“Carlo, I need—” What?
But Carlo seemed to know. On the next thrust he opened his mouth even wider until….
Until Garrett felt like he had been swallowed whole.
Until he hit—yes—
there
.
Until Carlo’s throat closed around him and the vibrations hit like a freight train before Garrett could even process Carlo’s guttural sound of pleasure.
Until Garrett’s eyes rolled back in his head.
Until Carlo swallowed and swallowed and finally buried his face against Garrett’s limp body.
Until Garrett thought he might be able to sleep after all.
He felt Carlo move and heard him removing his clothes. Then Carlo climbed back into bed, shifted Garrett into a better position, and pulled the sheets over them. Carlo’s arms were around Garrett, his half-hard cock pressed against Garrett’s back.
That was wrong. Inconsiderate to leave Carlo that way. But cocooned in the heat of his partner’s arms, he couldn’t even manage to lift his eyelids.
“You should go home,” he managed. “Get some rest.”
“Yes.”
But Garrett drifted asleep before Carlo moved.
Chapter Nine
Garrett was gone when Carlo woke up.
How did he keep sneaking out like that? Carlo didn’t think of himself as a particularly heavy sleeper, but the last thing he remembered was clutching Garrett to his chest like a giant teddy bear.
Of course part of it might be that Carlo had been awake half the night, and he was a guy who needed his full eight hours. Garrett, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after six hours, fully functional on five hours, and could produce drop-dead gorgeous food better than anyone in the city on four. The word “insomnia,” if it could be dragged out of him at all, wasn’t bandied about until he hit several days in a row with no more than an hour or two of sleep at a stretch.
Carlo lay on his back, surrounded by tangled vanilla-scented sheets. He tried not to worry about the fact that Garrett had abandoned his own home rather than face Carlo this morning. Instead, he let his mind grind right back into the rut that had kept him awake last night. Garrett’s parents.
He had Googled them, of course. Years ago. Mom had some high-level behind-the-scenes job on Downing Street that had lasted through several administrations and occasionally got her face, but not her name, in the papers. Dad did something impressive at a massive multi-national conglomerate.
They were a few dozen rungs above the Rotolos on the socio-economic scale, but otherwise seemed pretty boring. Normal. No messy divorces or messier scandals. No scary political or religious affiliations. No fucking horns growing out of their heads.
Garrett didn’t talk much about them, so Carlo hadn’t thought much about them. That had obviously been a massive oversight on his part.
He kept picking at the problem while he got of out bed, got dressed, and headed home, trying to dredge up every mention Garrett had ever made of his family.
The most logical explanation for the freeze was Garrett’s sexuality, but it didn’t feel right. Carlo remembered asking him about it when they were in college, if his parents were cool with him being out.
Garrett had shrugged. “Sure. When I told Mother, she said, ‘Yes, dear. Will you be home for tea?’”
When Carlo had come out to Nonna, she had looked at him as if he had told her the sky was blue. Garrett’s story was so eerily similar that Carlo had accepted it without question. But obviously his picture of Garrett’s family had been way off base.
Garrett had been at NYU when Carlo met him and had pulled a few sneaky tricks with his tuition and allowance so he could attend culinary school on the side. His rich-ass family hadn’t been willing to finance an education in the career he wanted. Again, not abnormal by itself. Most parents would prefer NYU if they could foot the bill. Still….
He went back and back through the little snippets of conversation over the years. After stripping away his preconceived notions and applying what he had seen last night….
He wanted to put his fist through something.
He wanted to find Garrett and hug him until neither of them could breathe.
He thought of the bundle of passion and energy that was Garrett Ransom, imagined him growing up in a house with the two people who had dined at Ransom last night.
Dear god, how had Garrett survived it?
The answer, of course: he hadn’t. Not whole, anyway.
Worse than anything, Carlo didn’t know what to do about the situation. He didn’t know if anything
could
be done.
So he went home, checked his phone compulsively, and told himself that Garrett was a big boy who had known about the parental situation even if Carlo hadn’t. He obviously had his own coping mechanisms.